Entanglements with the Enemy 8
by SheriAnn
Summary: Another hijacking of the hijacked Ulysses leaves Lucas and company in even more precarious circumstances.


_Disclaimer:  This is an amateur work meant in no way to infringe upon the rights of Amblin Entertainment or the Sci-Fi Channel.  Lucas Wolenczak, Nathan Bridger, seaQuest, etc., are all the sole property of Amblin Entertainment and its cohorts in Hollywood.  The Non-Allied Powers are the products of this author's own deranged mind . . ._   


*** READ AUTHOR'S NOTE ***:  some elements have been changed from canonical tradition.  For example, Lucas Wolenczak graduated from Stanford with an M.S. in Artificial Intelligence, as well as a subject concentration in physics/mathematics.  Some dates may appear suspiciously outside canon.  In addition, because of the Non-Allied Powers (situated in a place called "Dominia," another element outside the seaQuest canon), this work can be seen as an Alternative Universe piece.

_Rating:  **PG-13**, rated as such because of some adult themes and language._

_Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn_

Now that the boring stuff is over, let the games continue!   
  


  
  
  
  
  


Entanglements with the Enemy

Part Eight

  
  
  
  


Alicia Noyce was sitting quietly in her captain's chair, staring blankly at her desktop, when Commander Dean Nelson cleared his throat.  She looked up to see her computer expert and most-trusted advisor standing anxiously in the doorway.  Nothing--except, perhaps, a renegade vortex smashing through their ship--upset Nelson.  She'd known him for about a year now, and she'd never seen him this upset before.  Hmmm . . . Curiosly, Alicia frowned, her body leaning forward in the chair as she gazed at the Commander.

It took Nelson less than a second to interpret her frown as permission to speak.  He crossed to her desk, meeting her eyes and tapping his fingers across her desk.  He again cleared his throat--and then again.  Finally, after a silent moment had stretched uncomfortably between them, Nelson began, "They'll be here in about ten minutes, Captain.  The _Apache, _that is.  Brigg is almost here."

Ah.  Of course.  Commander Nelson was just as concerned about Brigg as she was.  Alicia leaned back in her chair, eyes studying the man before her.  They were shaded, almost like someone had planted two fists in his eye sockets.  The stress was getting to him, as it was getting to her.  And she suspected the news of Brigg's arrival only worsened Nelson's stress levels.  Not that this was at all surprising:  the Captain had a reputation for cruelty, one that just about everyone had heard the rumors about.  From all the evidence she'd seen, that reputation was well-deserved.  "I'll be right there.  Let me finish up a few things."

Nelson nodded, then, hesitantly, headed towards the door.  He stopped just before leaving.  "Captain, permission to ask a question?"

Alicia's eyebrows rose sharply; Nelson knew such formality wasn't necessary with her.  However, Alicia simply responded, "Granted."

Nelson looked back at her.  He frowned.  "Captain Brigg.  He's not known as the nicest Captain in the fleet."  That was putting it mildly, of course.  One could just as easily say Brigg was a flaming, raving lunatic and still be softening the truth.  "What are you . . . no, what are _we _going to do about the prisoners?"

It was a good question.  Naturally, she didn't have a good answer for it.  She'd simply have to settle with the best answer she could give:  the truth.  Alicia sighed, then steepled her fingers, holding them lightly beneath her chin.  "I've been thinking of the same problem most of the night.  What I've arrived at as my answer isn't pleasant in the least."

Alicia paused, trying to think of how to phrase her decision.  Nelson quietly shut the door behind him, then returned to her desk, quickly taking one of the chairs and settling in for what looked to be a heavy discussion.  Alicia finally continued:  "They're my prisoners.  We captured them, in our mission, on our boat . . . well, what _would have been _our boat had the plan succeeded."  Pulling a strand of red hair from her eyes, Alicia nervously chuckled.  "Now, before you say it, I know for a fact that Brigg isn't going to be happy with my answer.  He's going to think my stupidity, my lack of command experience, my karma, my flaming astrological sign . . . God knows whatever pops into his demented little brain at the time . . . anyway, he'll state that is what caused the problem in the first place, and, obviously, any decisions I made should be considered suspect.  That's how Brigg's mind seems to work.  Blame something, then try to take advantage of it.  I imagine he'll also ask NAP for . . . a command over-ride:  basically, for me to be shuffled to the side so that he might command _my_ crew and _my_ ship."

Abruptly, Alicia stood, pacing.  She looked at Nelson.  "He's not going to get that.  There's no way on freaking earth he's going to wrestle this command from me!"  She pulled her gun from its holster.  Nelson watched, eyes widening, as Alicia rechecked her weapon.  She met his stare with a steady, unrelenting gaze.  "I don't plan to let him steal my position, my crew, or my prisoners.  Not for any reason."

Nelson could think of nothing to reply with.

He continued to simply stare after her as she marched out of the office and towards the docking bay, determination gleaming in her eyes and tightening her mouth into a thin line.  Finally, after a moment's silent contemplation, Nelson followed her, wondering how the day's tense situation might resolve in anything less than a blood bath.   


***** 

A man of distinguished appearance with his graying hair and his perfectly trimmed beard, Captain John Stewart Brigg drew nearly every eye in the room.  He had an aristocratic, highly chiseled face, one that rarely seemed to smile.  The eyes, too, dark in their intensity and forbidding in their glare, were sharp, perhaps even piercing.  He was tall, large in build.  Commander Nelson would have estimated he stood at about 6'5", maybe 250 pounds.  Not a cell on his body appeared to be loaded with fat.  Even beneath his crisply pressed gold and black uniform, it was easy to see muscles rippling with each movement.

If nothing else, Captain Brigg was intimidating.  He towered a good one and a half feet over Captain Noyce's head, a grimace pulling the muscles tautly across his face as he gazed down at the red-haired Captain.

Nelson started towards Alicia's side, but suddenly froze mid-stride.  Dear God.

Even as he watched in amazement, confusion erupted in the docking bay of the _Ulysses_.  Confusion . . . and gun fire.

Voices raised in shouts of alarm; arms moved quickly, reaching towards sidearms; bodies bolted for safety.  Horrified, Nelson saw one body tumble to the floor . . . then another, to be rapidly followed by another.  He couldn't tell if the victims of these shots lived or died, only that they fell with startling _thumps_ to the floor.  More wrestling caught Nelson's attention.  He turned his shocked gaze away from the floor to two opponents locked in furious combat.  Alicia aimed a kick at Brigg's chest.  Brigg ducked.

More confusion, people rushing at each other.  People hit each other, moving their arms in silent, angry struggle.  Weapons fired.

Nelson's view of the melee abruptly cleared:  the two Captains were again visibile.  As Nelson stared, wondering what the hell he could do to help Alicia, Captain Brigg swung his arm around Alicia's neck until she was firmly grasped within his arms.  Brigg ruthlessly twisted her head towards him, eyes narrowing at the hatred he saw reflecting in her eyes.  Alicia reached for her weapon, but he smacked her hand away easily, as if she were merely an annoying child.

The only sensible thing for Nelson to do right now was to escape.

Perhaps if he escaped, he could try to reach some help.  Nelson knew it might seem the actions of a coward, but was it cowardly to try to escape when being caught might mean death?  He didn't think so.  He sure couldn't help his comrades if he, too, was sitting in the brig . . . or dead, whichever it was.  Nelson couldn't imagine Brigg ordering Alicia's crew to be killed--no, flat-out murdered--but, then, he also couldn't imagine Brigg ordering such a raid in the first place.

Slowly, Nelson carefully retraced his steps, walking backwards in fear of someone spotting him.  _One, two, three . . . just a few more . . ._  Just a few more steps, and he'd be out of sight.  _Come on, luck, hold out just a bit more._

He continued to back away from the fighting.  Alicia was still trying to overpower her captor.  One of Nelson's friends, Harry BeLon, was trying to fight his way to her side, but uselessly.  There were simply too many of them.  Because Alicia hadn't expected Brigg to act so quickly, she hadn't thought to bring more of her crew with her.  Most were still on the bridge, completely unaware of what had happened.  And Nelson knew that those who were there might not fight Brigg.  They were tired, injured, and afraid; their once-glorious prize was leaking, their supposedly "easy" assignment was on the brink of disaster, and most of them hadn't had any rest since the assignment began.

At last, he felt the wall behind him, bumping against his back.  He held his breath, praying fervently that no one would stop him.  _Just one more step . . . that's all . . ._

Nelson took the final step around the corner, then fled down the hall like hell's flames were licking at his very heels.

It suddenly occured to Nelson as he yanked an access panel open and crawled within its tunnels that he was in exactly the same position Lucas Wolenczak had been earlier:  hostile enemy boarding boat, taking captain hostage, he alone (at least apparently) escaping.

He simply hoped he was both as lucky and as ingenious as his predecessor had been . . . for he had the nasty suspicion that ingenuity and luck would be his only chances of survival.

***** 

He was swimming in a sea of gray, freezing water, struggling towards land with at least one hundred miles stretching before him.  His arms, heavy as lead, plunged slowly, tiredly through the water, pushing the water behind him as he  lifted his arms for yet another leaden stroke through the equally leaden sea . . .

Captain Nathan Bridger suddenly bolted upright, arms flailing against an unseen attacker, his body unconsciously mimicking the movements of his dream.  He jumped to his feet, eyes widening with amazement, with shock.

Before him slumped the badly beaten figure of Alicia Noyce, formerly Captain of the _Ulysses._  Barely holding her up by the collar of her shirt was a tall, gray-haired, angry-looking man.  With a loud _smack_, the man dumped Alicia on the floor.  He wiped his hands on his slacks, as if to rid himself of the taint of having touched her.

The penetrating, cruel eyes then slid from one face to the next, stopping for several heart beats on Lucas.  Nathan felt his blood chill.

But the man simply turned and left, slamming the door behind him.


End file.
